To Touch the Moon
by darksideofnight
Summary: Their's was a twisted relationship. But, a relationship nonetheless. Love shows itself in strange ways. Rated for gore.


A/N: um...the gore in this story is a little over the top, so have fair warning.

Blood trailed twin paths down both of their faces after they shot, neither really noticing the pain. They both ignored the wounds, and prepared to fight, Alfred reaching into his coat to retrieve a second pistol, and Ivan pocketing his Glock in favor of the faucet pipe he always carried with him. They stood in stark silence, each exchanging wild grins. Smiles which betrayed a violent lack of control, rather than any benign feeling.

The first sound was of a gunshot, quickly followed by the solid smack of the pipe against the blonde nation's skull, releasing yet more blood from both countries, from a spot on Ivan's shoulder, and Alfred's temple, deep red staining both white coat and blonde hair. They continued to fight, ignoring every injury they sustained, but secretly (or perhaps not so secretly,) enjoying the time together.

"I'll beat the hell out of you, commie bastard!"

"Nyet. You never cease with your arrogance, capitalist pig." Alfred lunged at him, shoving the barrel of one of his guns into the Russian's stomach, pulling the trigger while the other swung the faucet pipe into his ribs, earning the sickening crunch of bones breaking. They traded more blows, and Alfred screamed when the turning mechanism on the faucet pipe caught under his eye lid, successfully pulling the skin away from the lower part of the left side of his face. Ivan gave a small yelp of pain when Alfred dug his fingers into a bullet wound on his arm, pulling flesh away from bone.

Finally, with the intention of ending the skirmish, Ivan lifted the pipe, and with all the force his injured arm could muster, impaled the American through the abdomen, lifting him up so that he dangled by the wound. The blonde sagged down, near unconsciousness, but lifted his pistols in a last ditch effort, and pushed the barrels into the other's eye sockets, watching as violet eyes were blown away and the Russian's eyes revealed only dark, inky blood. The effect caused them to both collapse from exhaustion, Alfred on top of Ivan. Their wounds healed slowly, it would take hours to fully recover with only scars remaining. Eyes now unseeing holes, Ivan wrapped his arms around the man atop him, while Alfred nuzzled his head into the crook of the arm he hasn't maimed, they then proceeded to pass into oblivion. But not forever.

Their's was a twisted relationship, but a relationship nonetheless.

When they awoke, the bespectacled nation found that he had healed around the pipe, which still stuck out of him. He groaned in displeasure, and Ivan stood up next to him, awoken by the other nation's absence.

"Babe, get your god damn pipe outta me." The violet eyed nation smiled slightly, but complied, ignoring the gasp of pain the other emitted. Once he'd wiped the blood off onto his already ruined coat, he approached his lover, embracing him.

"I'm glad your face is healed again."

"I'm glad your eyes are healed again." Again, they smiled at each other, kissing quickly before America exited the room, leaving Russia to stare after him sadly.

/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

They fought for nearly forty five years, until one day, Ivan couldn't get up again. His government had been shattered, and his economy decimated. Alfred felt that maybe he should have been happy, but all he could do was sob, and carry his love's unconscious form to his bed. Unable to bear the fact that his love probably hated him, and still nursing injuries from their last fight, he had left. But each day since then, he'd felt that he'd left a part of himself in that room as well. After all, who was he to love if not Ivan? But still, he was the hero, and heroes had to continue. So did Ivan. No longer could they fight the way they once had. And he missed the lover who had beaten him back then. So, they would both gaze to the moon, and wish they could go back to the times when all that had mattered to either was the other, and power. The power to touch the moon.

A/N: sorry if this is hard to understand or stupid, I'm a Hetalia writing virgin...Anyway, I really like the Cold War pairing, though I like them with a healthy(?) dose of crazy added into the mix. So yeah, hope my violence didn't offend you much, but this is a bit toned down from other fics that I haven't posted...reviews are nice!


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